Crystal Blue I: A Butterfly's Wings
by Alexannah
Summary: An unexpected early discovery means Harry now knows the Ministry want him dead. On the bright side, he knows why. ADMM RWHG impliedonesided HPHG.
1. Prologue: Potion Confusion

**Prologue: Potion Confusion**

By Alexannah

* * *

Summary: Everyone's lives are put in jeopardy when a secret revealed causes identity confusion and a tangle of assassins after the Boy-Who-Lived. When the hunter becomes the hunted, who can put things right? A tale of love, family, lies and blackmail.

Rating: M

Warnings: Angst, violence, strong language, references to slash/rape, non-slash mpreg

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine

Author's Notes: This little plot bunny came to me aeons ago when I was planning _Emeralds and Green Light_. I found myself writing out scenes just to get it out of my head, and it turned, first into a fic, and then into a series. This is number one. Numbers two and three will be prequels. I once posted the prologue to this, but deleted it due to plot changes and the need to focus on EaGL. I'm still working hard on EaGL, but I decided to post the prologue as I wait for my beta to get back to me with chapter two. So, here's the first instalment of _A Butterfly's Wings_. Thanks to Fairy for beta'ing – enjoy! Reviews welcome, no flames please!

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* * *

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_They say that time changes things, but actually you have to change them yourself__  
__**- Andy Warhol**_

"Where's Dumbledore when you need him?" Ron said exasperatedly.

He and Hermione edged around the alley, watching the battle through appalled eyes.

It was horrendous. Voldemort and about two dozen Death Eaters were duelling fiercely against the residents of Hogsmeade – the ones left. Most were dead. The tallest Death Eater was the worst – sending powerful Dark curses in all directions. He was responsible for most of the deaths so far. He'd killed even more than Voldemort had, and tortured a great deal.

Upon hearing of the Death Eater attack at Hogsmeade, Ron and Hermione had sneaked out of the castle to do what they could to help – against the teachers' wishes, obviously. Harry would have been with them, had he not been … indisposed. Absent. Missing.

Their minds, however, were on the subject at hand, rather than their friend.

Ron gripped his wand. It wouldn't do for the Death Eaters to catch them; contrary to what Harry would have done, were he present, he and Hermione were waiting out of sight at the sidelines, waiting for someone – preferably a Death Eater – to come round the back, so they could ambush them. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing; DA members or not, they wouldn't stand a chance against the tallest Death Eater, let alone Voldemort.

Or should it be the other way around?

"Oh, that's horrible," Hermione whimpered. The tallest Death Eater had cast a curse that swept through the battle, ripping apart most without masks. Now only a handful of the villagers remained.

She wondered vaguely who it was behind the mask.

There were shouts from out of their sight, before half the Order came rushing towards Voldemort and his followers.

"And about time too," Ron muttered, wincing as Tonks was Stunned almost at once.

The Death Eaters seemed to be asking Voldemort if they should retreat, but apparently the response was negative. The tall figure, only beaten height wise by the vicious Death Eater, radiated confidence, which all seemed to revolve around said follower.

"Hermione …" Ron said slowly. The tallest figure seemed to be backing away from the battle, as if trying to escape without being noticed. Hermione spotted the sign, and exchanged a nod with Ron. The two tightened the grip on their wands and slipped back around the corner and crouched in the shadows, waiting.

"_Stupefy!_"

The Death Eater, caught off his guard, crumpled to the ground, Stunned.

"That was easy," Ron said wryly, lowering his wand and standing. "Now let's see who that mask hides."

Hermione moved nervously forwards and tugged it off, revealing a face of the least likely person imaginable to be a Death Eater. They both gasped.

"Merlin," Ron breathed, "it's _Dumbledore!_"

* * *

_How it all began …_

The Informatio spell had been outlawed in 1834, because of 'moral issues' with the Ministry of Magic. It comprised of two separate potions, one for each caster, and a complicated incantation that was to be cast by both.

Aberforth Dumbledore came across the spell accidentally. He knew his brother Albus and his wife Minerva had given up on the idea of having children; they'd been trying for years, with no success. Aberforth's sister-in-law was due to leave the country soon to put her Healer training to good use in the war, but he figured there was enough time for them to brew the potions and try the spell before she left.

He ran the idea past Albus, who in turn asked Minerva. She agreed, and the two of them put the time before she left to good use.

For such rare potions, they were surprisingly easy to make. The last two ingredients of each consisted of a lock of hair from each of them. Once the first step was over, Albus took them off the fire, waited for them to cool and placed them in separate vials.

Halloween, the day before Minerva's departure, came.

"Min, are you sure about this?" Albus asked for the hundredth time. Minerva looked pale and nervous, but nodded firmly.

"I've never been surer in my life."

Albus handed over the goblet containing Minerva's potion. He had only poured out half of each one, as a precaution, in case something happened to the first lot. He poured out half of his own and they stood facing each other, wands at the ready.

"On three. One – two – three!"

Both drained the goblets. The potion sent a warm gush down Albus' body, and he felt a tingling all over, and a strange sensation that made him think for a moment he was going to throw up, but it passed, then he and Minerva began to chant the spell.

As they finished the last word of the incantation, a flash of blinding white light came from both wands. Both of them winced and shut their eyes, half-blinded.

And it was over. The two lowered their arms, and looked at each other.

"Minerva? How do you feel?"

"A bit queasy," she said shakily. "You?"

"Fine." In truth, Albus didn't feel all that good, but he didn't want to worry Minerva. He put his wand away, taking a couple of subtle deep breaths.

"Well… I guess that's it, then." Minerva put her own wand away and managed a smile. "Let's hope it works out this time."

Her husband wrapped his arms around her and kissed her head. "It will, Minnie. It will."

* * *

Albus and Minerva had tried so many times to have children and failed, they'd agreed not to tell anyone when they attempted the spell. Minerva left the next day, promising to write the moment she found out whether it had worked. The staff noticed something was distracting Albus, but left him to it, putting it down to him missing his wife.

A fortnight after Minerva left, Albus received a letter at breakfast.

_Dear Albus,_

_Things are not going so well over here. You-Know-Who is still killing like crazy. We're beginning to suspect there may be a spy in our midst. He seems to know almost exactly what our moves are, so he can work around them._

_I'm sure you know all this already, so let's get to the real reason I'm writing. I know you wanted me to write as least as possible, but you need to know this._

_I only found out this morning – the spell didn't work, Albus. I really thought this time it would, but it never did. I'm not pregnant and never have been._

_I don't know what went wrong. Maybe this just wasn't meant to be._

_I miss you so much, Albus. I wish you were here, especially now. But now I know the truth, I'm going to stay longer. I'll let you know when I come back. Keep in touch; I still want to hear how things are doing your end._

_Love you,_

_Minerva

* * *

_

Ever since the arrival of the tear-stained letter, Albus had spent a lot of his spare time in the Restricted Section, trying to find out what went wrong with the spell. There had to be a logical explanation; he couldn't believe it wasn't meant to be.

He had expected the spell to take a lot out of him; it was a very powerful one, even if it hadn't worked. Albus was feeling more tired and even fluey. He wondered if he was coming down with something, but he didn't go to Madam Pomfrey; he had to find out what happened. He owed Minerva that much.

His research led him to a history of the spell being performed. He couldn't find a single case of the spell not working when cast and brewed correctly; yet he was positive he had done everything right. What he did find were records of the lives of the children and families that had used it. The author stated that he was sure all of them had either died, or fallen victim to terrible bad luck early in life.

Albus wasn't sure he believed the superstition, but found part of him silently thankful that the spell hadn't worked after all.

When the library got him nowhere, Albus turned his attention to the leftover potions. He wondered whether he should double-check it was brewed correctly. If it hadn't, there could be a nasty side-affect that he didn't realize, and if so he ought to find out.

The morning he resolved to examine the potion, he felt worse. His stomach churned when he woke and only just managed to get to the bathroom in time before he was sick.

Pushing aside the voice of his conscience telling his he should visit the nurse, he took out the vials and set to work. It wasn't until mid-afternoon he realized what the problem was.

_Oh, Merlin._

Albus stared at the two bottles. He cast his mind back to the morning.

_How_ _can I have been so careless?_

He fumbled with the bottles, his hands shaking badly, as he put them in a bag to take to Poppy Pomfrey. She had to see them.

_Albus, you absolute idiot. What have you done?

* * *

_

Aberforth had left it several weeks, deciding that he would wait until Albus and Minerva were sure to know whether or not the spell had worked. He couldn't help but feel exited at the thought of being an uncle – in his opinion he was the lucky one; the parents had to _parent_, whereas he just got to spoil.

He arrived at Hogwarts on a Saturday, as jumpy as a Mexican Jumping Bean (what clever things those Muggles thought up!). Once inside the castle, he hunted for his brother, but couldn't find him anywhere. After interrogating half the staff, he surmised that no-one had seen much of him since Minerva had left.

He left a note on Albus' desk saying he'd been round but couldn't find him, and decided that to prevent the trip being wasted he would call upon Poppy, whom he'd always had a soft spot for.

When he appeared in the Hospital Wing, he was surprised and somewhat disconcerted to find his brother pacing the ward.

"Er, morning, Albus. What are you doing here?"

"Don't ask," Albus snapped. Aberforth blinked.

"Okay, I won't. I just came over to see you."

"Well, now you've seen me. Goodbye."

"You don't have to be all stroppy with me, bro. All I wanted to know is if I'm gonna be an uncle or not."

Albus groaned and stopped pacing. For some reason, his face was unusually pale.

"_That_, dear brother, is what I'm waiting to find out."

Poppy opened the door and entered the room, her face anxious. Albus looked up.

"Well?"

"Er …" Poppy was twisting her hands nervously, as if afraid she said the wrong thing, she'd get fired. "the test was … positive."

Aberforth let out a whoop. "Yes! I'm going to be an uncle! You owe me old boy; being I was the one who dug out that spell for you!"

Albus had sat down heavily and Poppy was pale. Aberforth's grin faded.

"Er … am I missing something here? That _was_ a pregnancy test you were talking about, wasn't it?"

Albus slowly nodded.

"For Minerva?"

Albus shook his head.

Aberforth looked from his brother to Poppy. "I'm lost. What's going on?"

Poppy held up two potion bottles and mimed switching them. Aberforth was still blank, and said so. The matron sighed.

"Mr I-don't-make-mistakes here labelled the potions wrong. Minerva drank Albus', and he drank hers."

Aberforth's mouth fell open as the Knut finally dropped. "Well, _that_ was stupid."

* * *

"Filius, have you seen Albus? We had a … um … meeting earlier, and he didn't show."

The tiny Charms Professor looked up at Poppy, who had her head round the door.

"Not since breakfast," he squeaked anxiously. "He got an owl with some bad news and asked everyone to leave him alone for the day. He's probably in his rooms."

A knot formed in Poppy's stomach. "What was the bad news?" she asked, praying it wasn't anything to do with Minerva.

Filius said he didn't know; nor did any of the staff. Poppy thanked him and retraced her steps up to Albus and Minerva's rooms.

She knocked softly on the portrait (who huffed irritably). "Albus? Are you there?"

There was a small pause before the portrait swung open.

The curtains were drawn, and at first Poppy didn't see Albus, uncharacteristically slouched on the sofa. She pulled the curtains a little way apart; the light fell on his face, and she saw tear streaks.

A letter was held, crumpled loosely, in his hand.

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_We are very sorry to inform you that yesterday our Healer headquarters was ambushed and attacked by Death Eaters, and several of our Healers were badly injured, including your deputy headmistress, Ms Minerva McGonagall._

_She sustained severe injuries to her head, and is at present unconscious. Her condition is critical, and if she survives it is possible she won't come round. We are doing everything we can to help her._

_Unfortunately, we are unable to allow visitors, however bad the patient. It is far too dangerous for everyone involved. We hope you understand. We will owl you as soon and often as possible with her progress._

_We know that you and she were close friends and work partners, and we are very sorry for your loss._

_With my condolences,_

_Frank Longbottom_

The letter was dated some three weeks before. It took a long time for mail to get through from the battlefield.

A cold hand clutched Poppy's heart as she finished reading. For a long time she couldn't speak.

"Oh, Albus," she breathed when she finally found her voice.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but couldn't prevent another tear leaking out.

"What am I going to do, Poppy?" he whispered hoarsely. "I can't do this without her. She needs to be here." Albus hiccoughed softly. "It's her child too, and she doesn't even know – I didn't get a chance to tell her …"

Poppy felt tears pricking at her own eyes, but blinked them away. Minerva was her oldest and best friend, and she owed it to her to be strong for Albus. Even he needed someone to lean on; now more than ever.

She couldn't tell him she'd be all right, because she didn't know that. She couldn't comfort him, because she didn't know what to say.

Albus had his head in his hands. It was one of those rare moments when he looked hopeless and helpless. Poppy hadn't seen him like that since the time of Grindlewald; she immediately resolved to do everything in her power to help him.

And she'd start with the check-up he was meant to have that morning.

* * *

_Courtroom Eleven, the Ministry of Magic_

Cornelius Fudge's predecessor had much more common sense that Fudge did. There was a war on, and in dark times like these, sometimes one had to bend rules to fit in with the situation.

Which was why, when he heard the news, he decided to act a little differently.

After all, Dumbledore was the only one You-Know-Who ever feared. If a scandal like this got out, the public would lose their respect for him, and that was all that was keeping the wizarding world sane.

At first no-one believed Jasper Malfoy when he stated his claims to the Ministry. But the ex-student insisted on a hearing, where he would bring forth his proof. After an internal debate, a hearing was called.

It was stressful on everyone. The interrogators felt as if they were under pressure from both sides – which, in a way, they were. To begin with, most were undecided who was telling the truth, and who wasn't. Both parties were well-respected with a decent reputation, and until the hearing they wouldn't have any evidence either for or against either side. The majority started out on Dumbledore's side, but it didn't end that way.

Whispers filled the courtroom when he entered. Albus ignored them and settled uneasily in his seat. Only those nearest him noticed how tightly he gripped the chair handles, or the raw fear in his eyes.

Jasper was asked to stand and say his part. He was an extremely good actor; playing up the poor-little-victim-me act. Albus had to admit it was convincing; not that it particularly needed to be, considering the situation. After all, Jasper was most likely paying, and he had an advantage over Albus that couldn't be ignored.

The Malfoy child described what he claimed in great detail; some of the Wizengamot shuddered, glancing in Albus' direction. This did not look good. Jasper had obviously thought through the whole plan to the last detail, and his talk sounded well-rehearsed. Albus wondered how many times he'd run through his story.

There were other people there on Jasper's side; Albus didn't recognize either of them. One was Jasper's lawyer, the other a Healer.

If Minerva was here, the situation would have been different. He could have told the truth and she could have backed up his case. But it wasn't like that. He was on his own.

Malfoy sat back down in his seat, shooting Albus a brief look of triumph. Albus longed to reach for his wand, but settled for increasing his grip on the handles of his seat. His knuckles were white.

"Is this true, Mr Dumbledore?" the interrogator asked. Not even 'Professor' any more. That wasn't a good sign either.

"No," Albus said firmly, causing the whispers to start up again.

"Then perhaps you could tell us your story."

Albus swallowed and stood. He caught Poppy's eye; she gave him an encouraging nod. He clasped the bar in front of him as he spoke, looking straight at the interrogator and trying not to look at anyone else in the court.

He kept the tale short and to the point. He was proud that he managed to appear outwardly calm, but inside he was shaking. Albus knew even the Ministry wasn't stupid enough to send him to Azkaban, whatever the verdict. But that held little comfort; he wasn't worried for himself. He was frightened for his child.

When he had finished, he sat down heavily; he felt exhausted. The Wizengamot looked at each other; they seemed to be silently debating who was telling the truth. A couple glanced at him, and the expressions on their faces calmed Albus slightly. Maybe he would be all right after all.

It was just as he was thinking that, the judge asked Jasper's Healer to stand.

Either she was being paid, or she was a Death Eater too; Albus didn't know, but he privately suspected both. She backed up Malfoy's tale, causing the Wizengamot to go into shock, shudders to run around the vicinity, and Albus suddenly became the subject of a lot of stares. He wished they wouldn't.

Poppy stood and said her bit, but the Wizengamot didn't think it was proof enough for Albus' version of the tale. He'd expected that, but he felt like a cold hand had clenched around his heart. He had fought with everything he had; he had nothing left, only an agonizing wait for the verdict to be announced.

And it came. The room went disturbingly still as he was declared guilty. He had been expecting this. Now all he had to do was find out what action they would take.

Albus had never felt so scared in his life. He was visibly shaking as Jasper stood and told the court what he wanted. He'd known it was coming; the boy himself had told him what he'd planned, wanting to boast about his well-laid plans.

_When I get the chance_, Albus silently swore, _I will kill you, Jasper Malfoy. I will rip you limb from limb. Just you wait_.

The court didn't seem surprised by Jasper's demands, but there were protests. Albus hadn't expected any of them to agree to the press release; it seemed half of Malfoy's plan had failed there. The fact that Malfoy hadn't succeeded in publicly discrediting him meant nothing to him; he didn't care about his reputation. Hope, however, arose in Albus as several members of the Wizengamot objected to the other part, declaring it unfair and immoral. Maybe he could still get out of this …

It was up to the judge. The silence before he spoke was the longest Albus had ever experienced; he could feel the blood pumping in his ears; could see Poppy's anxious face nearby.

Finally the judge spoke.

"_No!_" Albus cried, standing up suddenly and almost falling over as a wave of dizziness hit him.

"That is the court's decision."

* * *

_Hogwarts School_

Minerva McGonagall came round on the evening of the thirtieth of July. At first the other Healers worried that she didn't seem able to remember anything, but as the weeks went on, she regained her memories. Regular letters were sent to Albus Dumbledore, but for some reason he didn't reply. They could only hope that the letters had got through, and that he was simply choosing not to reply, even if that was out of character.

It took months for Minerva to regain enough strength to return to Hogwarts. She worried about why he hadn't written, but she assumed it was simply because he was anxious about letters being intercepted. He had always been very protective of the secret that they were married; only close friends and family knew.

She'd found him in his office, pouring over paperwork. Although there was nothing unusual about that, Minerva knew immediately something was wrong. She kept quiet during their reunion, but she secretly worried.

He didn't come clean with whatever he was keeping, and she knew that trying to get him to tell her would be like trying to get blood out of a stone without the use of magic. Albus seemed oblivious to the noticeable signs he was exhibiting, and Minerva decided to leave it a few days at the least.

Albus was already in bed when Minerva entered the room that evening. She wondered if he was asleep; his arm was lying on the pillow at the right angle he had a habit of, his eyes were closed and his breathing even. The more obvious sign was the lack of comment as she undressed. Usually, however tired he was, he could always sum up the energy to let flow a string of adoring compliments, or an 'I love you' at the very least. When nothing came, Minerva was convinced he was asleep. She slid carefully under the covers and gently wrapped her arms around him, and was taken by surprise when he took her hands and held them close.

"Albus! I thought you were asleep!" she scolded lightly.

"Almost," came the weary reply. Minerva tried hard to suppress a hot stream of worry that coursed through her, and she leant over and kissed him gently, stroking his hair.

"I don't know what's upsetting you," she whispered without knowing why, "but I am here for you if you need me."

Albus nodded, still with his eyes closed, and she settled down next to him, still holding him close.

Several times during the night Minerva woke when Albus turned over. She wondered how long he had not been sleeping properly, and if it was the cause of his tiredness.

When she woke in the morning, she found she had slept in slightly later than usual. Albus was still asleep, his hair a mess from his constant tossing all night.

Minerva reached over and shook his shoulders gently. "Albus? It's time to get up." He groaned and buried his face under the covers, and she sighed and rolled out of bed.

When she had washed and dressed, she went back into the bedroom, and was surprised and slightly alarmed to find her husband back asleep. _This is not normal._

"Albus!" she hissed, shaking the covers more vigorously.

"What?"

"You've overslept; you need to get up now."

She half-wondered if she'd imagined the "Shove off, Minnie," that emerged, nevertheless muffled, from under the covers. She seized the quilt and pulled it completely off the bed. Albus moaned and recoiled into a ball, his arms up over his head.

"Albus, come on, you need to get up!"

_This is definitely not normal_. Minerva, while trying to suppress the disturbing thoughts in her mind, attempted to pull Albus to his feet only to get swatted away.

Being the target of all the activity, Albus was beginning to feel more awake when Minerva showered him with cold water.

"Aargh! All right, all right, I'm getting up!"

He pushed himself upright, wiping water off his face, and reached for his spectacles. His sharp-eyed wife didn't miss the slight wince of pain.

"Albus? Are you all right?"

"Yes," he said, a little too quickly. Minerva frowned.

"Right. Where does it hurt?"

He stared. "What?"

"Albus, what's wrong? What are you hiding?"

"Minerva, I'm not hiding anything!" he snapped.

She barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes. He could be so _stubborn_ sometimes.

"Please, Albus, don't lie to me. I know there's something wrong and I'm not letting you out of this room until you tell me." To prove her point, she crossed the room, shut the door and pulled out her wand.

Albus groaned. She could be so _stubborn_ sometimes.

"Minerva, really, there's nothing wrong," he lied fruitlessly. He knew it was pointless, but he wasn't ready to talk about what had happened while she was away. He hadn't spoken to anyone of it since the next morning. Poppy and Aberforth had both tried; they knew it wasn't good for him to bottle up his emotions, but it had been and still was too painful.

"Albus, really, you're behaving like a child!"

The effect this simple accusation had on him was unexpected. Albus froze, and his eyes clouded. Minerva realized what she had said too late.

"Albus?" She reached forward tentatively. "Is that what this is all about?"

He looked at her straight in the eye. He said nothing, but the blue clear pools were begging her to understand. She swallowed. She had no idea how strongly Albus had felt about having children – she knew he wanted them, but she didn't realize it had affected him so.

Finally he spoke. "I think I owe you an explanation, Minnie."

**TBC…**

**A/N:** No, I haven't given up on EaGL, I'm simply posting this b/c I'm bored while my beta's going over chapter 2. I swear I'm not going to discontinue it. Promise.


	2. White Lies

**Chapter One – White Lies**

By Alexannah

* * *

Summary: Everyone's lives are put in jeopardy when a secret revealed causes identity confusion and a tangle of assassins after the Boy-Who-Lived. When the hunter becomes the hunted, who can put things right? A tale of love, family, lies and blackmail. 

Rating: M

Warnings: Angst, violence, strong language, references to slash/rape, non-slash mpreg

Disclaimer: JKR owns Harry Potter and this is only fanfiction, so put down that phone!

* * *

_These tears you cry__  
__Have come too late__  
__Take back the lies__  
__The hurt, the blame!__  
__**- Lord of the Rings (Gollum's song)**_

_A few (okay, sixteen – ish) years later_

Harry could never sleep well before a Quidditch match, and the first of the season was no exception. He'd been sleeping badly since the end of his fifth year, often waking several times in the course of one night.

This morning would be the first match he'd played in since he had been banned the previous year. He still felt he was a bit rusty even after the team practices, but at least he was still better than Malfoy.

When Harry awoke for the fourth time than night, he felt a strange weight on his feet. Opening his bleary eyes, he glimpsed what looked like a tabby cat curled up on his bed. He stared for a minute, before deciding he was imagining things and closed his eyes again to try and go back to sleep.

As he turned over, he disturbed the cat, who moved off his feet and sat patiently waiting on the end of the four-poster for him to fall asleep properly, before padding softly up to his head and nuzzling his nose delicately. Harry twitched, and if she had been able to smile, she would have done. Instead she rubbed her head gently against his before leaping lightly off the bed and leaving the dormitory.

* * *

Gryffindor won, but the match was still a disaster. Malfoy hadn't been joking about getting revenge on Harry for putting his father in Azkaban. The Slytherin Seeker had snatched Goyle's beater's bat and used it to send a Bludger towards the Gryffindor Seeker as he caught the struggling Snitch. Unfortunately for both of them, it hit its target. 

All Harry was aware of was a dull WHAM, searing pain in the back of his head and impenetrable darkness as he passed out.

The Professors and students hurried onto the field towards the crumpled scarlet-clad form on the ground. A quick levitation spell later, Harry was once again in the hospital wing.

A frantic Ron and Hermione hovered anxiously while Madam Pomfrey looked him over. She stated he had a moderate concussion, but should be okay, and would be coming round soon. They breathed a sigh of relief before she chased them out the Hospital Wing.

* * *

The first thing Harry became aware of was the spirited orchestra (with a very dominant brass section) that seemed to be in the middle of a loud overture in his head. He swallowed a groan and kept his eyes closed, hoping to fall back into the comforting realm of sleep. 

Albus pushed the Hospital Wing door open and poked his head round.

"Poppy? Are you there?"

Madam Pomfrey entered through the door at the other end, gesturing at him to be quiet and pointing to the only occupant of the room. Albus swallowed as he caught sight of the apparently sleeping Gryffindor and forced himself to think.

"I've come for my potion. Do you have it?" he whispered. Poppy nodded and beckoned him in.

Harry lay quietly, listening to the sounds around him and trying not to think about his headache, or Malfoy. The latter made him want to hit something.

He heard footsteps pass him as Dumbledore crossed the ward; a door closed and there was silence again. Harry listened hard. The whole castle seemed to be quiet – it must be late.

The door opened again and Harry caught the sounds of two people talking in low voices – they seemed to be having some sort of argument. Harry tuned in to distract himself from his pounding head.

"…goodness' sake Albus, stop being so bloody stubborn and listen to me!"

It was Madam Pomfrey, and although she kept her voice down, she sounded no less than furious.

"Poppy, please, you'll wake Harry -"

"Maybe that's a good thing, as you're obviously not going to tell him straight!"

Harry mentally groaned. _Now what?_

"Poppy, you know perfectly well why I haven't told Harry."

"Albus, you do realize you can't keep him a secret forever, don't you? Sooner or later someone will find out, and I'm sure Harry would rather hear it from his own father rather than splashed over the newspapers – especially considering the circumstances!"

Harry involuntarily gasped, but the arguing grown-ups didn't seem to have noticed.

"Poppy, no-one will find out," Dumbledore said, but his voice didn't sound very sure.

"That's right, keep lying to yourself. It _will_ happen, Albus. It's inevitable – the charm isn't permanent, and there are records, you know; and besides, Harry deserves to know the truth. How would you feel?"

Harry's heart was thumping so loud he was sure the adults could hear it. Half-formed thoughts were whizzing around in his head. Dumbledore mumbled something so quietly Harry couldn't tell what he had said, but Madam Pomfrey could.

"Albus, please listen to sense! I know you mean well, but for Merlin's sake, the boy's your son!"

_Odd, I didn't know Professor Dumbledore had any … any … oh._

Harry's heart stopped beating. His brain froze. He couldn't think straight. His ears filled with buzzing and he felt rather than heard Dumbledore storming across the ward. It wasn't till the door was half-open he found his voice.

"Professor Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore froze, and turned to face him. He looked nervous, but was trying to cover it up.

"Harry! You're awake! How are you feeling?"

Harry found he was sitting up in bed with no memory of getting into that position. All he could think of were random thoughts crossing his mind like crazy, along the lines of:

_He said I was his son._

_Is it another Harry?_

_Am I jumping to conclusions?_

_He doesn't look anything like me._

_Did I mishear?_

_How does Madam Pomfrey know anyway?_

_Maybe he's related to James…_

The muddled thoughts made no sense and Harry made no attempt to untangle them. He narrowed his eyes at his headmaster.

"Not too good, Professor. I still have a headache from the match and I've just overheard a rather revealing conversation."

He watched Dumbledore's face carefully, and his insides clenched when it tensed and paled. Dumbledore looked over at Madam Pomfrey, who glared back at him.

"I told you, Albus. Now you can clear up your own mess." She sent him a glare and stalked back over to her office the other side of the ward.

There was a very awkward silence. Both seemed to be waiting for the other to speak. Finally Dumbledore gave a little cough and said awkwardly, "Um, Harry… how much did you hear?"

Harry frowned at him. "Enough."

Dumbledore gave a small groan and leaned against the Hospital Wing door.

Harry swallowed hard. His mouth was dry.

"I heard what you said, but… I don't… did you say you were my – my father?" he asked hesitantly.

Dumbledore looked up into Harry's eyes. He opened his mouth, hesitated, and closed it again. He didn't answer. He didn't need to. It was written in his eyes.

Harry looked away.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked. He tried to make it sound accusatory to hide the hurt behind it. Maybe he succeeded a little too well, because Dumbledore flinched.

"It's a – long story …" He moved nervously forward and reached out to touch Harry's shoulder, but the teenager shied away from the touch, leaving Dumbledore's hand outstretched. He slowly lowered it.

"So tell me." Harry's voice came out hard and cold. Dumbledore flinched again.

"Harry …" he tried again, and trailed off, eyeing the visitor's chair next to the bed. "Can I sit down?"

Harry shrugged like it didn't matter, and Dumbledore sat in the chair next to him. Harry looked down at his hands, deliberately avoiding the headmaster's eye.

There was silence for several minutes before Dumbledore admitted out loud, "I'm not sure where to start."

"The beginning should be the best place," Harry said flatly. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"I was afraid," Dumbledore said quietly. "You weren't supposed to know, and I was afraid what would happen if the wrong person found out you knew. I was trying to protect you," he finished in a voice so low Harry could barely hear him.

"Like you did last year, you mean, when I ended up being banned, manipulated, abused, tortured, possessed and nearly killed."

"Yes."

"Like you meant to protect me when you left me with the _Dursleys_."

"Yes."

There was a long and very uncomfortable pause while Harry thought. Shock brought on irrationality, which sparked an uncomfortable thought that he voiced.

"_What did you do to my mother?_" he asked in a deadly whisper, numerous thoughts flooding his head.

Dumbledore buried his head in his hands. This sign Harry took to mean as guilt, and he found all feelings of forgiveness for the last year flooding away, leaving a stream of barely-controlled rage.

After a pause while Harry bit his tongue to stop him accusing the headmaster of – what, exactly, he wasn't sure; thoughts of blackmail, extreme anti-Voldemort plans and even rape were flooding his mind – Dumbledore said quietly, "Harry, it's not what you think."

"Just get out."

"Harry -"

"GET OUT! NOW!"

For a second, Dumbledore actually looked frightened – he stumbled as he stood up, staring at Harry warily, before he turned and positively fled from the room. Harry, adrenaline pumping through his body, started to get out of bed to follow him – maybe even throw a punch at Dumbledore – but a pair of hands belonging to Madam Pomfrey grabbed him and forced him back onto the bed.

"Let me go!" Harry struggled fruitlessly against her grip before the anger left him. He slumped back onto the pillows as all the pain rushed back to his head. His eyes prickled for a moment before he completely broke down.

Madam Pomfrey put her arms around him and let him cry onto her shoulder, calling her employer things Harry was sure not even Fred and George Weasley knew under her breath.

* * *

Albus ran from the Hospital Wing, Harry's words ringing in his ears. He'd known if Harry knew the truth he'd be facing rejection, but he could never have imagined it to hurt this much. It stung him more than the morning after – _No, don't think about that_, he chastised himself. 

He didn't stop until he reached the chambers he shared with Minerva. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down, and entered.

Minnie was on the couch with a mug of tea, a pile of homework to mark and her winnings from her bet with Severus over the match's outcome. She looked up as her husband entered.

"Did you get it?" Then she saw his face. "What's wrong?"

He crossed the room in silence and sank down into his favourite chair, his head in his hands. After a moment of silence he said dully, "He knows."

The tone of voice meant Minerva knew exactly what he was talking about. She took a sharp intake of breath and put down her mug heavily, slopping tea over the fifth-years' essays.

"How?" she breathed. When Albus remained silent, she stood and moved over to him. "Albus?"

He sighed. "Poppy was nagging me to tell him the truth – like she does every time I set foot in there – and he overheard."

Minerva winced. "Ouch. Not good, Albus." When he didn't respond, she slid onto his lap and wound her arms round him. For a moment they sat together like that, hanging on to each other, before she said softly, "How did he react?"

"You mean besides yelling at me to get out?"

"Oh Albus, he didn't."

"Honestly, Minnie, what would you have done?"

"All right, I get your point. Maybe he just needs some time to calm down and take it in."

"There isn't a lot _for_ him to take in at the moment. He only knows part of it. I think he thinks I did something to Lily."

"_Ah_. He doesn't know about me then?"

"Well, he didn't exactly give me much chance to explain."

Minerva winced. "Do you think … do you want me to speak to him?"

For a moment her husband stayed quiet, before saying quietly, "No, I don't think so. It might make things worse. That's the last thing we need. I'll ask him to come and speak with me when he's had time to calm down, and if he doesn't show I'll wait a bit longer. If he still doesn't speak to me, you can try."

When Harry awoke, he kept his eyes shut.

_I had the weirdest dream._

He became aware of a pain in his head, and sighed as the events at the match came back to him.

_Maybe I wasn't dreaming. Maybe I was hallucinating. That Bludger did hit quite hard._

Harry opened his eyes a fraction, squinting at the ceiling. The bright morning light stung him and he closed them again, rolling over onto his side; when he opened them again the light was dimmer. After attempting to get his bearings, he saw something left on his bedside table. A scrap of parchment addressed in narrow, italic script.

_Harry –_

_I know right now you are probably mad at me, but you need to hear me out; there's more to what I said last night than you think. Please can we meet either in my office or Minerva's when Poppy releases you?_

_- A.D._

_PS: I'm sorry you had to find out the way you did._

A stone seemed to drop into Harry's chest, making it difficult for him to breathe. He dropped the note, his mind strangely numb.

Last night was real.

Dumbledore was his father.

* * *

Harry had been asleep for several days; Madam Pomfrey finally let an anxious and impatient Ron and Hermione in, much to Harry's dismay. It wasn't that he didn't want to see his friends, but he needed some time to himself to think; he needed to get his head round what Dumbledore had revealed to him. 

He'd just told the headmaster he'd forgive him for his actions last year in the last week; he'd found it difficult, and they both knew he wouldn't forget it anytime soon – there was going to be a long road ahead before they reached that destination, but he'd been willing to try. Now, however, he felt like he was back to square one – or further back. He couldn't place himself; he needed to know the full story before he could, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know. _And if it does incriminate him_, Harry thought, _he's not exactly going to be free about it_.

Ron and Hermione interrupted his confused thoughts with worried greetings, news from the rest of the school, and a selection of sweets they'd sneaked into Hogsmeade to get via the secret passageway into Honeydukes (using Harry's Invisibility Cloak, and leaving the money in the till). Any other time Harry would have been touched they'd risked detention (or worse) for him, but he was finding it difficult to concentrate on them; something Hermione didn't miss.

"Harry, are you alright? Are you sure the Bludger hasn't harmed you more than Madam Pomfrey said? You seem a bit distracted."

"I'm fine," Harry said shortly. His friends, knowing immediately he was lying, shared exasperated looks. Harry changed the subject.

"What happened to Malfoy? Did he get detention?"

"Better. He's suspended from the school for a fortnight. He got off lucky as well – everyone thought for a while he was going to be expelled. He would have been if you hadn't been so lucky."

"You call concussion lucky?" Harry asked hoarsely. "Do you have any idea how much my head aches?"

He realized straight away he shouldn't have said that, as Hermione immediately started fussing.

"Leave off, Hermione. I was exaggerating; it doesn't hurt so much now. It was just when I woke up."

"Hmm," Hermione still looked sceptical, but Ron ploughed on.

"I dunno what happened in the headmaster's office, but I heard a rumour it took both Snape _and _McGonagall to talk Dumbledore out of kicking Malfoy out the school. He was really mad. Remind me not to get on his bad side."

"Mm." Harry had gone awkward at the mention of Dumbledore's name, something Ron and Hermione both noticed.

"Harry? Is everything okay between you two? You didn't mention what happened when you went to see him the other day."

Harry shrugged, trying to find a way to salvage the conversation. It was getting way too personal for his liking, without them realizing it. He carefully looked down, avoiding Hermione's prying eyes; he didn't look up until Ron said, "Harry, what's this?"

With a sinking feeling, Harry saw he'd found Dumbledore's note. Harry had crumpled it into a ball and hurled it at the door five minutes after he'd read it; Ron was now smoothing it out.

"It's – nothing – just -"

Harry made a grab at the note, but Ron read it aloud.

"_Harry - I know right now you are probably mad at me, but you need to hear me out; there's more to what I said last night than you think _…Harry? What's happened?"

"Nothing," Harry insisted, trying to snatch the note. Ron held it carefully out of his reach, finishing reading it.

"_I'm sorry you had to find out the way you did._ Find out what? Harry, what's he told you?"

"None of your business. Can I have that _back_ now?"

Ron handed it back; Harry carefully ripped the scrap of parchment in half and dropped in the bin.

"What was that for?"

"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not talking to Dumbledore. Or about him. At all. Can we _please_ change the subject?"

"Harry -"

"No."

"We just want to help!"

"This isn't the sort of thing anyone can _help_ with; this is between me and him."

Ron and Hermione exchanged bewildered looks, but knew when they'd lost a battle. After a long silence, Hermione started talking about their Transfiguration lessons. Harry wasn't entirely settled by this; Transfiguration made him think of McGonagall, and she made him think of Dumbledore – the two just seemed to go together in his mind. He stayed quiet however, listening to his friends argue lightly about the latest assignment.

When Ron and Hermione left the Hospital Wing shortly after, they were left with something to think about.

"What do you suppose that was about?" Ron asked in a low voice as they rounded a corner.

Hermione sighed. "I don't know. But whatever it was, it must be pretty serious. Harry looked really angry, didn't he?"

"Well, whatever it is, he'll tell us at some point. He didn't tell us about the prophecy for ages, but he did in the end, didn't he."

"I'm not sure," Hermione said slowly. "I get the feeling this is different … I don't know, more _personal_ than the prophecy."

"How much more personal can you get?" Ron exclaimed, forgetting to keep his voice down.

"Shush, Ron. I don't know. I just have this … feeling."

* * *

For once, Harry wasn't looking forward to being released from Madam Pomfrey's care, and welcomed the fact that she was very protective of her patients. He wanted to put off the pending confrontation as much as possible. 

Unfortunately for him, his injuries weren't serious enough for him to stay very long. He was deemed fit enough to return to the main school the following morning. Harry tried to persuade the matron to let him stay longer, but although she was sympathetic, she said he needed to face his demons.

Upon arrival, the rest of Gryffindor House correctly sensed that something was bothering him – either that, or Ron and Hermione had told them – and they wisely left him alone. Even Professor McGonagall – who came into the common room that evening to sort out a first-year's problem with her cat – left him alone, while giving him odd glances; she left Harry wondering miserably how much she knew. After all, he had surmised that she and Dumbledore were very close, and if Madam Pomfrey knew, there was no telling who else did. Harry groaned inwardly – did _Snape_ know?

He wouldn't be surprised if the entire faculty knew. That thought stabbed him. Had _everyone_ known he wasn't James' son, except him?

The question of _how_ kept rolling around in his head. Part of Harry – a large part – wasn't sure he wanted to know. Different theories – each as unlikely as the next – kept rolling around his head. The shock had mostly worn off now, and Harry put aside the more disturbing ones; he was pretty sure now rape had nothing to do with it, and he thought (or rather, fervently hoped) it hadn't been an affair between Dumbledore and Lily. Harry did NOT want to think about that. _Ew …_

The most likely thing Harry could come up with was some half-vague idea that Dumbledore had heard the prophecy before he was conceived and, somehow, planned him to be the one it referred to, and it had to be_ his_ son for some reason. _In which case_, Harry thought miserably, _I've only ever been meant as a weapon._

Harry still wondered how, if he was Dumbledore's son, he still looked so much like James. He figured the answer was pretty simple – it had to be some sort of spell. _Did James even know?_ Harry thought.

Thinking back to the summer, Harry remembered a conversation he'd had with Hermione. They'd been looking through some old photos of the three of them in their earlier Hogwarts years. He frowned, remembering what she'd said.

_You've really changed since first year, Harry. Look at those photos. You're almost a different person. I mean, you're still recognizable, but not as much as Ron and me._

He'd wondered vaguely about the changes he seemed to have gone through, but thought no more about them properly until later, when he'd found his glasses weren't working as well as they had been. Hermione had taught him to magically adjust them, and she hadn't said anything; Harry had assumed that his eyes were just changing due to growing older, but now he admitted there had been a niggle of doubt in the back of his mind.

Harry pulled out the photos she had been referring to and looked carefully in the mirror. He found his nose had changed shape slightly, his chin was different, and his eyes looked more almond-shaped and had a different tint to them. His hair was also growing differently; it seemed to be wavy now rather than messy. On close inspection, he could pick out a few hairs that were almost a darkish red. The changes were slightly more prominent than they had been in the summer; he wondered how no-one else had noticed, but he reasoned that as everyone saw him every day, gradual changes wouldn't get picked up on.

He sank back on his bed, thinking. Madam Pomfrey had said something about a charm, and it not being permanent. She must have been referring to whatever had caused him to look like James in the first place. _Well_, Harry thought, _I've got time. I can worry about it wearing off later_. He wasn't in any mood to ask Dumbledore about the charm. He decided to leave it till he'd calmed down.

Harry couldn't sleep. It wasn't really surprising, with everything on his mind. He just couldn't shut his mind down, no matter how hard he tried, despite the fact that his eyes were itching with tiredness. He'd kept the other boys in his dormitory awake for ages, tossing and turning, and snapping at them when they told him to stop.

It was very late, after the others had finally dropped off, that Harry heard it. A slight creak coming from the floorboards. He frowned into his pillow, wondering who was out of bed, until a hand touched him lightly on the shoulder, making him jump.

"Don't _do_ that!" he whispered angrily, sitting bolt upright. It was Dumbledore.

"What do _you _want?"

"You've been avoiding me."

"I know."

"Harry, can we talk? … In private?"

Harry groaned. "Alright. Let's get this over with." He slid out of bed and pulled on his jeans and Cloak, before following his father out of the dormitory. Harry remained in a stiff silence stubbornly, all the way to the headmaster's office.

Harry expected Dumbledore to sit behind the desk, but instead he directed them both through a door to his private quarters. It was comfortably furnished, in red, gold, royal blue and cream. He motioned for Harry to sit on the sofa and Harry did so; Dumbledore sat down on the other end.

"So," Harry said obstinately. "Spill. I'm listening."

**TBC …**


	3. Between Father and Son

_**Summary:** Everyone's lives are put in jeopardy when a secret revealed causes identity confusion and a tangle of assassins after the Boy-Who-Lived. When the hunter becomes the hunted, who can put things right? A tale of love, family, lies and blackmail. _

**Disclaimer:** I only own the plot, Jasper Malfoy, and the name Artemis Dumbledore. At least I thought I did, till I found some other fanficcer had got in there before me. But I'm NOT changing it! Everything else is JKR's.

**Author's Notes:** I know, it's been TEN MONTHS since I updated … and the reason was the first scene below. It STILL doesn't seem to flow right to me … but the info I wanted to be there is there … so I can get on with the rest of the story and edit this later. Phew.

* * *

**Chapter Two: Between Father and Son**

_Sometimes the gods may bless us in the morning and curse us in the afternoon  
**- Troy (the film with Brad Pitt and Orlando Bloom)**_

It had taken all of Albus' courage to face Harry after their last confrontation, and his son's attitude didn't help stoke his nerve. There was a very awkward silence: Albus had opened his mouth, only to find he had no idea how to start.

Harry apparently noticed the hesitation. "You should have thought this through before you came to talk to me."

"Yes, I suppose I should have done," Albus murmured. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Fine, I'll start us off. _What did you do to my mother?_"

Dumbledore sighed. For a moment Harry didn't think he was going to answer, before he said quietly, "Nothing."

Harry snorted in disbelief. Dumbledore looked at him.

"It's true. I never did anything to her."

"I'm not five years old anymore, _Professor_. I do know the facts of life."

"Harry … Lily wasn't your mother. She and James weren't your real parents."

Harry froze. After he regained control of his voice, he stammered, "I-I was adopted?"

Dumbledore nodded. Harry felt a lump in the back of his throat. Finding out he wasn't James' son was one thing. Being told he wasn't anything to do with either of the adults he'd grown up believing were his parents was another.

But if neither of his parents were his parents … that meant … what did that mean? Harry's head buzzed; he leaned into his hands, trying to stop his thoughts colliding. "Ugh," he murmured, rubbing his forehead.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

"No I'm not bloody alright," Harry snapped, before feeling guilty. "Sorry."

"Accepted." There was a pause while Harry closed his eyes, trying to sort out his thoughts. He jumped as a hand made contact with his shoulder.

"Sorry," Dumbledore said quickly, withdrawing it.

"S'okay," Harry muttered. "You just made me jump."

Silence fell. Dumbledore seemed to be waiting for Harry to make the next move. Harry's head was spinning. He rubbed his forehead, a habit he seemed to have developed recently, trying to gather together the words.

"If … if they both adopted me," he dared ask quietly, "What about my mother? Who was she?"

"The most wonderful woman in the world," Dumbledore murmured, a small smile playing on his lips. "You remind me of her in a lot of ways."

Harry couldn't help but feel a warmth at that.

"Is she … dead?"

"No."

Suddenly Harry's mouth was very dry. "Are you two … still together?"

"Yes," was the quiet reply. For a moment Dumbledore looked as if he was going to continue but Harry interrupted with the question he'd been thinking ever since the words "Lily wasn't your mother".

"What's her name?"

Dumbledore swallowed visibly. "You know her, actually."

"I _know_ her?"

"Minerva McGonagall."

Harry was stunned into silence for several minutes. By the time he found his voice again, Dumbledore had stood up and got a glass of water from the other side of the room and sat back down again.

"Why did you give me up?" Harry asked finally, somehow deciding in shock to postpone the rest of that part of the conversation.

"I didn't want to give you up, Harry; honestly I didn't. The day you were born was both the best and the worst of my life. But I had no choice."

"You make it sound like my … mother … wasn't even involved."

Dumbledore bowed his head. "She wasn't. She wasn't there."

Harry blinked. "Huh?"

Dumbledore took a deep breath. "It's a long story …" He cleared his throat. "Your mother and I … we wanted children for years, but we always failed. In the end we discovered she couldn't carry them, so with you … I did."

Harry blinked, completely taken aback.

"Uh, how exactly did that happen?"

"Magic."

"Right," Harry muttered. "So … Why _did_ you give me up then? I'd sort of assumed it was just because Voldemort would have wanted to kill me if he knew you had a son, but …"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No. Had it not been for the … other circumstances … you would have grown up here. Hogwarts would have been all the protection you needed."

"What were the other circumstances then?"

"I was getting to that."

"Sorry. Carry on."

"Well, I suppose date order would be best … Before you were born, your mother was working as a Healer in the war – One day the camps were attacked and she was cursed into a coma. No-one knew for a long time if she would wake." Dumbledore took a gulp of water. Harry could see in his eyes that relating this was painful and looked away.

"She did recover eventually, obviously, but not till it was too late. You were living with James and Lily by then and I had already lost the case."

"What case?" Harry asked curiously.

"The case to determine whether you would be allowed to live or not," Dumbledore said grimly.

Harry gulped.

"Sorry, that sounded a bit over-dramatic. That wasn't strictly what the case was about, just the outcome." He took another drink of water. Harry thought it best just to wait for him to continue.

"Harry, you're a powerful wizard. More powerful than you realise. It's not very surprising considering your bloodline … But anyway, that part's best left for later. The fact is, I wasn't the only one aware of that fact – the Ministry was as well, and they saw it as a threat to them."

"So – the Ministry wanted me dead simply because I was powerful?"

"No, no – that's only really part of it. There was a seventh-year who attended the school when I was expecting you. His name was Jasper Malfoy – Lucius Malfoy's younger brother – and he was next in line to get the Dark Mark. Somehow – I'm not entirely sure how – he figured out about you, and he knew that you were powerful – exceptionally so. He used it – he went to the Ministry and accused me of … rape."

"_What???_"

"He was trying to get into Voldemort's good books earlier than planned by having me discredited, and you out of the way. The story he told was that I had used him to conceive you, in my plan to bring down the Ministry."

"And they _believed_ him?"

"Harry, you know what the Ministry's like. They would rather cover themselves by taking an innocent life than risk what Malfoy had made up I was planning."

"So what happened?"

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "A hearing was called, I was declared guilty, and you demonstrated exactly what you were capable of by Apparating me out of the room before they could get to you."

"Apparating?" Harry said in disbelief. "How old was I?"

"Minus ten hours," Dumbledore replied, smiling at the look of shock on his face.

"I was Apparating _before I was born?_"

"Yes. I think it must have shocked the life out of everyone in the room."

"Then what?"

"You were born – that wasn't easy, I'm not getting any younger you know – and I had twenty minutes with you before Poppy took you to the Potters."

"That was it?" Harry asked weakly.

Dumbledore nodded. "The Chimera Charm was cast – it implants a second set of DNA inside a person to make them look different. It's often, but not always used for wizard adoptions."

Harry nodded slowly. "It's temporary too, isn't it?"

"It has to be re-cast after several years – the average is about fifteen, but it can last up to twenty years."

"Mine's wearing off."

Dumbledore looked at Harry sharply. Harry quickly added, "Over the summer Hermione was looking through some old photographs. She noticed I'd changed more than her or Ron. If you look carefully, I have changed a bit recently. Look -" he fingered one of the longer locks of his hair, showing the reddish strands. Dumbledore's eyes widened.

"That could be a problem."

"Why? Can't someone re-cast it?"

"No, not without Lily or James. Once it's worn off …"

"Everyone will know who I am. Well, the Ministry will figure it out, at least. And they want me dead."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly.

"Is there any chance of clearing your name?"

"It's not that that's the problem. They're more concerned about keeping themselves safe, which means even if I was cleared they would probably still – um -"

"Kill me."

He nodded again. "Because the fact that I was innocent doesn't alter the fact that you're powerful, and after last year … They'd still be worried that I would use you to bring them down. Proving I didn't rape Malfoy wouldn't change that."

Harry sighed. "So what happens when my charm's gone?"

* * *

Harry stirred sleepily and opened his eyes, squinting. He was back in his dormitory. For a moment he wondered if it had all been a (very) bizarre dream, but he heard a slight creak at the doorway and sat up. 

"Don't go."

Dumbledore – his father – turned to look at him. Harry rubbed his eyes. "Did I fall asleep?"

"Yes. I brought you back."

Harry stifled a yawn and Dumbledore smiled. "Go back to sleep, Harry."

"I can't," Harry muttered. "You've basically told me that by the end of the year I'll either be dead or in permanent hiding. How am I supposed to go to sleep with that on my mind?"

Dumbledore's smile vanished and he sat down on the bed, pulling Harry's covers up round him. "Harry …"

"I know, you didn't mean for it to be like this," Harry finished. "But it is. And on the plus side, apart from repeated attempts from Voldemort to eliminate me, I've really enjoyed my time at Hogwarts. I'll miss it," he added sadly.

What came next startled him and moved him at the same time:

His father hugged him.

For a moment Harry froze, not used to physical contact from anyone apart from Hermione, but then his arms crept around Dumbledore's neck and he leaned into the embrace that felt long overdue.

For the first time that he could remember, he felt completely calm, and completely safe … like nothing, ever, could harm him or take him away from where he belonged. He didn't know how long it lasted but it seemed like eternity.

His eyes were itching, not just with tiredness, he realised, but unshed tears. He squeezed them shut and leaned in even closer. Dumbledore's arms tightened around him and Harry sighed, truly content for the first time in his memory. He could feel he was too tired to stay awake much longer but didn't want to break the moment.

His father broke it.

"Go to sleep, Harry."

Harry shook his head, not wanting it to end.

"Go on." Dumbledore slowly withdrew his arms. Harry moaned, half-asleep already. One hand softly stroked his hair and Harry opened his eyes for a split second to see Dumbledore kiss him gently on the forehead.

"Goodnight, Harry," he said quietly to the almost-asleep teen, and then murmured gently, "My baby boy."

The only response was a soft snore.

* * *

"Wake up, guys! You'll be late!" 

Ron groaned and turned over as Seamus hit him with a pillow. "Sod off, Seamus."

"Fine, be late then. Remember me when you're in detention with McGonagall for being late to Transfiguration … _again_."

"Alright, alright, I'm getting up!" Ron sat up and rubbed his eyes groggily. "Is Harry awake yet?"

"Nope," Dean replied. "We didn't want to disturb him."

Ron slid out of bed to look. Harry was huddled in a ball under the covers, his thumb half-in his mouth. His arms and covers were both wrapped around himself as if he was searching for security. Ron sighed and leaned over to shake him.

"Harry? Harry, wake up; we've got Transfiguration and we're gonna be late."

"No," a small voice mumbled.

"We'll see you two at breakfast." The other three left the dormitory.

"Harry, come on, you need to wake up!"

A green eye opened sleepily for a few seconds and closed again … Only, Ron noticed, it wasn't quite as green as he remembered. Almost blue-ish. Odd. Must have been a trick of the light.

"Come on Harry, wake up."

Harry shook his head.

"I'm not going to lessons today."

"You have to come to lessons; you'll get into trouble -"

"That's my problem, not yours. Go away."

Ron stood in shock for a moment, before leaving the dormitory.

* * *

"Don't tell me," Professor McGonagall addressed Ron and Hermione, "Mr Potter refused to come to lessons?" 

Ron nodded, wondering if this sixth sense was something all women had or was just limited to Hermione and his Head of House.

"I had a feeling that would happen. Join your classmates, I'll be back in two minutes."

Professor McGonagall swept off into her office and after looking at each other helplessly, Ron and Hermione followed the rest of the class into the room and sat down at their usual seats. Hermione stared at Harry's sadly. Whatever he was going through, it had to be bad.

* * *

**TBC … **

**AN:** It took me forever to get that explanation written. I'm really sorry. Oh, and I know Albus didn't tell the whole truth about the spell. But really, you expect him to admit he mixed up the labels? (_grins_)  
I'm aiming to have shorter chapters for all my fics so they don't take as long to write. This plot is quite complex and took me ages to get it straight, and I still keep finding bits that need minor tweaking.This chapter was a horror. Hopefully the next one will be easier. And quicker.  
Oh, and by the way, I've dispensed with beta-readers for anything other than EaGL at the present. Once that fic is finally sorted I'll go back and have everything else beta'd.  
So … what will Harry look like once the charm's gone? Will Albus' name ever be cleared? How will Harry finally react upon meeting his mother for the first time after being told who he is? And will Albus ever admit to Harry that he's a complete idiot when it comes to labelling bottles …? (Tee hee!)

Yay, reviews!!!! (_licks lips_) Mmmm … I wrote these out ages ago and forgot to post them the first time (again).

Anyway, onto the:

**Review responses **

**Dorel:** Hi again! Glad you're getting into it. Yep, Harry has a l-o-n-g journey on the road of self-discovery … I'm hoping this will be quite a long story, when I wrote it out it was long but not quite as complicated as EaGL (you'll be relieved to hear). But I managed to cram quite a bit into the first chapter, so we'll see how it goes. I'm glad you liked the prologue – ever since I deleted it for the first time I went through nearly ten different versions, b/c I just could not be happy with it. But now I think it's turned out okay. Yes, lots more of 'Daddy'. Yes, he can be very scary. Very, very scary. (_shivers_) Oh, and thanks for your help with SoM's summary, I appreciate it.

**ChipmonkOnSpeed:** 1) I didn't really intend to create 'bad mental images'. Out of interest, which part did that? I spent ages on the conversation between Harry and Daddy – it's an important part, so I needed to get it perfect. Keep reading! 2) The even number has I think been mucked up now, but thanks for the very kind thought. I wouldn't say no to more reviews:-D I have found that reviews do help me concentrate on a story more. Seriously, I'm not begging or anything, but if I have my mind (and/or muse) drifting off somewhere those lovely little review alerts bring it back to the story. Not for very long usually, but it's something. When you say the concept … elaborate please? Oh, I'm flattered. blushes Wulfric tells me I'm a great writer on a regular basis, but I still haven't got used to it.

**mmcgonagall1106:** Who's a bit feisty, me or Harry??? Yeah, Harry's very understandably cranky. Poor guy. Though in all honest truth I feel more sorry for Albus … probably because I'm the author. (_dark chuckle_) What's going on? Well, you've got almost all of it now … Now the big question is just: What happens next? (Hehe …)

**Wulfric Gryffindor:** I don't know why I'm writing this, considering that we've exchanged about a zillion emails since you reviewed … but I'm just making sure you know I haven't forgotten you. There.

Thanks also to **rosiegirl** for reviewing

**_Just another note: I have the next chapter planned, ie I have written out the sequence of events, so I know what's going to happen, which hopefully means I won't take 10 months to update again._**


	4. Trawling Through Treacle

**Summary:** Everyone's lives are put in jeopardy when a secret revealed causes identity confusion and a tangle of assassins after the Boy-Who-Lived. When the hunter becomes the hunted, who can put things right? A tale of love, family, lies and blackmail.

**Disclaimer:** Iris belongs to the fabulous author _**DZEYTOUN**_ and not me. I borrowed her from _**DZEYTOUN**_ for this fic/series only and intend to give her back when I've finished. _**DZEYTOUN**_ seems to have vanished from the face of the earth despite my several attempts to get in contact for permission to borrow Iris. As such, I do not have permission. If he gets in touch and says no, I will edit the story and use a different house-elf, but Iris really was my first choice – she fits the plot better than any I could have made up.  
Oh yeah, and the rest of the HP universe belongs to JKR.

**Author's Notes:** If you haven't had the pleasure of meeting Iris before, go and read Dzeytoun's brilliant works of art, "_Here Be Monsters_".

-----

**Chapter Three: Trawling Through Treacle**

_I wonder if you know  
How it really feels  
To be left outside alone  
When it's cold out here  
__**- Anastacia**_

-----

"He didn't turn up for class?"

Minerva shook her head. "Ron said he refused to leave the dormitory."

Albus sighed. "I can't say I'm surprised."

"Me neither, but … Albus, I think you should talk to him. I don't know how he'll react to seeing me right now …"

"Are you sure?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes. Albus, is that smoke I can smell?"

"No," he said, too quickly. "I'd better go and talk to Harry."

-----

The dormitory was quiet. Harry had almost fallen asleep again. He was concentrating hard on not thinking or feeling anything at all. It was working to some extent: although he could still feel the confused mix of emotions that had emerged last night and the days before, they were distant, as if someone else was feeling them; and his mind was blank, just the odd mundane thought floating into it, such as the fact that the weather was warm for November, or that he had a hair in his mouth, or if this was what it felt like to succeed at Occlumency.

The pleasant sensation was broken by the sound of footsteps. Harry tensed, wondering who was coming. He didn't think he could handle seeing Professor McGonagall … his mother … so soon after the revelation, especially as he was still confused over how he felt about it.

"Harry?" a soft voice said from the other side of the door.

He relaxed out of instinct. His father.

Since when had he stopped thinking of him as just "Dumbledore"?

"I'm awake," he murmured into the pillow.

He heard the door open, Albus enter the room and sit down on Ron's bed.

"How are you?" he asked quietly.

Harry considered. "I don't know," he admitted. "On the one hand … I've got a family. It's what I've always wanted the most. But on the other hand, I could die because of that, or at the very least be in hiding for the rest of my life."

Albus sighed and Harry raised his head off the pillow, blinking in the light, to see him. He noted that his father seemed to have aged even more since the last time they talked.

"What about you?" he asked.

Albus looked surprised, but answered without hesitation. "The same. Relieved I don't have to lie to you anymore, but …"

"Having to face the cold, hard truth," Harry supplied.

"That sounds about right. Saying it out loud seems to make it more real." Albus peered at him closely. "Harry, you look absolutely exhausted. Have you had any sleep at all?"

Harry shook his head. "Not really … no."

Albus sighed. "Right. Change your pyjamas, go to bed properly and I'll send a house-elf up with a sleeping potion. But tomorrow you will have to go back to class, Harry," he added gently. Harry groaned.

Albus pulled the covers up and kissed him on the forehead. He was drawing away when Harry raised his arms and made a gesture that read "_Please, I want a hug but I can't ask for it_". Albus obliged, smoothing his hair and murmuring soothingly.

"I need to go, Harry," he whispered finally.

"Just a quick question," Harry said quietly.

"Go ahead."

"Who named me? You, or …?"

"Both, in a way. I liked Harry, but as a middle name. James and Lily changed it when they adopted you."

"What was my first name?" Harry said curiously.

"Artemis."

"Artemis," Harry said slowly, trying it out.

"Do you like it?"

"Mmm. It's something different."

"I thought you didn't like being different?"

"No, I meant different to my name now. I like it."

Albus smiled. "Good." He kissed Harry one last time. "I'll send a potion up and tell your teachers you're not going to classes today. Sleep well."

"Mm."

After Albus left, Harry lay staring up at the ceiling for a moment before throwing the covers off and pulling out a clean pair of pyjamas. He tugged his T-shirt off and was about to pull the clean top on when there was a crack, and a surprised voice behind him said, "Oh!"

Harry whirled round. A house-elf had appeared out of thin air, clutching a feather duster in one hand and the other over her mouth. She was wearing a black dress, an apron with a large pocket and she was staring at Harry, frozen with no shirt on.

"Oh!" she said again. "Iris is being sorry, little master, I is not meaning to -"

"It's okay," Harry said quickly, pulling on his pyjama top quickly. "It's my fault, I knew you were coming -"

"No, no," the house-elf – Iris – reprimanded, though she sounded half-amused. "Iris is sorry. Iris has seeing little master with nothing on, sir, I is not offended."

"You – wait, have you been spying on me?" Were house-elves like ghosts?

"No, no, no!" Iris laughed. "Iris is referring to your birthday, little master – your first birthday ever. You was born at one in the morning on July 31st and Iris is being one of the first to see you, sir." She suddenly smiled nostalgically, her eyes brimming. "You was a beautiful baby, sir."

"You – what were you doing at my birth?" Harry said flummoxed.

"Is Master Albus not telling?" Iris' feather duster quivered, apparently in annoyance. "Iris is serving Master Albus for years, is being his personal elf. Iris is working for Master's family all her life sir, and my mother before Iris, and my grandmother …"

Harry's head buzzed. "Oh," was all he could manage.

Iris tentatively drew closer. "Iris is wondering …" she faltered. "Little master is being half right about Iris spying … Iris is coming in every night to see little master, to tuck in and whisper goodnight." She blinked tears away, drawing nearer. "Iris is never missing a night, sir." She paused, looking him in the eye, and suddenly Harry knew what she wanted and gave a small nod of permission.

It felt weird being hugged by a house-elf other than Dobby. But not unpleasant. Iris didn't squash him so hard he broke a rib, but her small arms were strong and Harry had a strange feeling of familiarity. Although he could never remember seeing her in his life, somewhere in his subconscious he recognised her.

"Your hair is being red, sir," Iris sniffed, pulling away and looking up at his face.

Instinctively Harry put up a hand to his head. "I know. Well, I know it was. Will be. Um."

She smiled. "You is looking just like Master Albus when you was born, sir."

"You were there then too?" Harry asked, remembering Hermione's research for S.P.E.W – house-elves had a life expectancy of about five hundred years. It was a peculiar feeling that the small being in front of him probably remembered his father in nappies.

Iris nodded. "Little master's father, and grandmother too."

A thought struck Harry suddenly. "Iris … can I ask you a question? I'm not trying to offend you, I'm just curious."

She nodded. "Anything, little master."

"Well … you said you've been working for my – my family for years. How come you're wearing clothes?"

"Oh!" Iris laughed. "Master Albus' mother is dismissing Iris a long time ago. But Master Albus comes to Iris later and says, she is free to work for him if she wishes, and Iris is accepting."

"Why were you dismissed?" Harry asked warily.

Iris sniffed. "Mistress is feeling Iris is too close to her family. Is saying a house-elf is to serve without emotion. Is saying Iris is just a servant, not a family member." She held her chin up proudly. "If feeling for Iris' charges is wrong, then Iris is proud to be dismissed!"

Harry suddenly realised he had tears in his eyes. He jumped a moment later as Iris' feather duster was brandished in his face. "Now little master is needing to go to bed. Up!" Harry obediently scrambled into bed, wanting to avoid being skewered or blinded with the feather duster. Iris took a potion vial out of her pocket and placed it on his bedside table. "You is needing to drink all of that."

"I will."

Iris frowned. "Iris is making sure you do." Harry was reminded of Mrs Weasley as she stood over him, hands on her hips.

"Just a minute," Harry said, realising he still had his pyjamas in his hands. "Iris, could you -"

Iris turned her back while Harry finished undressing, and when he slid back into bed she turned round and pulled the covers round him in much the same way as Albus had. "There, little master," she murmured in a much softer voice.

"Iris."

"Yes, little -"

"Do you think you could stop calling me that? I'm not your master."

Iris shook her head. "Your father is being Master Albus. You is being little master. One day Iris is being your elf." She considered. "If you is objecting to 'little master', what about Master Temmy?"

"Sorry?"

"Temmy. Master Albus' nickname for his baby. Is calling you that ever since you were confirmed a boy. Iris is always hearing about his little Temmy."

Harry opened his mouth, and closed it again. It seemed whatever Iris called him, it would have the word 'master' in it and he was too tired to argue. But 'Temmy' definitely appealed to him. He blinked away unshed tears as he heard Albus' voice in his head, murmuring soft words to him in the tone of voice adults used when talking to infants.

"I like that," he said quietly.

Iris nodded. "Good. Now take your potion, Master Temmy."

Harry gulped it down, shuddering. Iris tucked the covers round him and kissed him over his scar. Despite being unused to that sort of attention, Harry didn't shy away from it. The last couple of days had left him feeling somewhat insecure.

Iris seemed to have a sixth sense, either that or Albus had said something to her about him. But as she pulled the curtains, she turned to Harry with an affectionate expression on her face and said softly, "Master Temmy should never feel unloved."

-----

Harry slept the whole day and most of the night through. When he finally woke, early morning light was filtering through a gap in the curtains and he could hear the sounds of the other boys asleep in their beds. He looked across at Ron and saw his face was frowning slightly, unable to relax. Harry squashed the guilt. It wasn't his fault Ron was worrying about him. He'd tell him in time.

He could hear another sound in addition to the boys' breathing. Peering down the end of his bed, he could see the outline of a cat curled up asleep on his feet. His heart skipped a beat as he realised who it was.

"Mum," he murmured quietly.

The cat stirred, before sleepily opening her eyes. Harry swallowed.

Minerva saw he was awake, and leapt lightly up the covers till she was right next to him, and proceeded to rub against him affectionately, purring. Harry slowly reached out a hand and scratched her behind the ears, something he knew cats liked. Minerva let out a meow of pleasure and he chuckled. She brought her furry face right up to his and nuzzled his chin. Harry smiled contently. After a while she jumped down from the bed and transformed, and Harry found himself looking into the face of his mother.

Like Albus, Minerva seemed to have aged in a few short days: her eyes were tired, but there was a spark of some emotion Harry couldn't define as she looked down at him with the strangest expression on her face – an expression resembling the one Albus wore earlier. Harry suddenly had a lump in his throat. Before he could swallow it, Minerva in one movement knelt beside him and gently pulled him into her arms. It was a different sort of hug compared with the one he'd shared with his father, but in no means less loving.

Harry couldn't speak. Somehow, no words needed to be said.

-----

The day got worse.

Ron and Hermione didn't try to engage a conversation with him all day, for which Harry was part relieved, part hurt by. The rest of Gryffindor seemed to be avoiding him too. The teachers were as normal. There was no Transfiguration that day, so Harry didn't see his mother again outside the Great Hall. The hours dragged by as if he was trying to trawl through treacle. When the final bell sounded, the journey back to Gryffindor Tower seemed to take forever, and Harry finally collapsed on his own in the common room, exhausted and trying not to push away the thought that his homework had mounted considerably since the Quidditch match.

-----

Albus was stressed. He couldn't concentrate on paperwork. Minerva didn't have Harry for lessons that day and he didn't want to have to think of an excuse to ask any of the teachers he did have about his well-being. Iris had reported – amidst a lot of quivering of her feather duster – that when she'd left Harry he'd been tired, but the information he'd been receiving for the last forty-eight hours seemed to be sinking in. Albus' head hurt and he kept coughing. He'd completely forgotten the potions he was collecting when Harry had found out the truth – he'd left them back in the Hospital Wing. He was surprised Poppy hadn't hunted him down and forced them down his sore throat by now. He would go and collect them later, but right then he needed a break.

He glanced around to check Minerva was nowhere near before sneaking a packet of cigarettes out of his desk. Minerva had confiscated all of the ones she'd found so far, telling him severely that he had enough health issues without destroying his lungs as well. Albus had kept his conscience at bay by telling himself that he rarely smoked them and it was them or anti-depressants.

The Hogwarts grounds were nearly deserted, just a few older students with a free lesson down by the lake. He waved a greeting to Neville Longbottom, who went red and waved back hesitantly, before starting to walk around the foot of the Astronomy Tower, lighting a cigarette as he went. It had started off quite innocently, shortly after Harry had gone to live with the Potters. Several sixth-years had been dragged into detention for selling cigarettes to pure-bloods (thankfully, most of the Muggleborns knew the risks and were sensible enough to refuse – it had been one of them that turned the culprits in). After the scolding, Albus had asked them curiously why they smoked in the first place (and how they got others to), and they said it was a good thing for the nerves. After a particularly bad night, Albus decided to test the theory, and since slowly worked his way through the confiscated packs. It was not a habit, merely a resort for when he felt really bad. When the packs were gone, he had asked a friend in London to send him some.

Albus pushed memories of painful years away. He needed to concentrate on the future. Sooner or later, Harry would be found out and then it was hide or die. Despite having a plan in place, Albus had never got around to fine-tuning the preparations, having wanted to put off the moment for as soon as possible. But now he needed to get a move on.

He stubbed out the cigarette and began to make his way back to the Entrance Hall. As he walked, his head began to swim and he mentally noted that he hadn't take his potions yet before his legs gave way and he blacked out.

-----

Harry was sitting alone in the common room. His head hurt and the words of the textbook were swimming in front of him. He vaguely noted that he hadn't taken in a word anyone had said all day when he felt a sudden pain in his chest … but it was a strange sort of pain, as if he was feeling it from afar …

Half an hour later, Neville entered the common room and collapsed on the chair next to Harry. He looked like he'd been running and his face was pale.

"Neville? Are you all right? Has something happened?"

"Dumbledore …" he gasped. Harry's heart leapt into his throat. He suddenly had a bad feeling.

"What? Neville, tell me!" he urged.

"He just – collapsed – I think he's dead!"

**TBC …**

**AN:** The End … Only kidding! I wouldn't be that cruel!  
I did Iris slightly different to how Dzeytoun does – her background, for one. But it makes me feel less guilty that way about using her without permission (though it's not my fault I couldn't get it). It also makes it easier if I have to change her into a real OC at some point. I hope I don't, but if Dzeytoun objects then I will. Anyone got an idea for her name if I do?  
**Next Chapter:** We find out exactly how powerful Harry _really_ is, and the twins make an appearance

**Review Responses**

**ChipmonkOnSpeed:** By default? OCD? Wow … you and ImSoMMAD are great, you always leave lovely reviews! Please keep it up!

**ImSoMMAD:** Hehe, I want to curse J.M. too. But … I can't say because it'll ruin the plot … ngh. You'll hear Minerva's proper side to the story in the next chapter – sorry, there wasn't a lot of her in here.  
**  
Rosygirl:** Of course the mpreg thing has been done to death, but I'm not complaining because I like it … just, because I like it, and Albus is my favourite character, this plot really was inevitable …

Thanks also to **Aleta II Anon, Xavier Phoenix, Obsidian-Dragon-Phoenix, Crazy-Physcho** and **aliciajuncal **for reviewing!


	5. Double Trouble

_**Last chapter:**__ "Dumbledore … He just – collapsed – I think he's dead!"_

* * *

**Chapter Four: Double Trouble**

"I keep telling him," Minerva was saying in an exasperated voice as Harry charged into the Hospital Wing, "that those awful things are bad for his health."

"What awful things?" Harry gasped, skidding to a halt. "What's wrong? Will he be all right?"

Without answering him straight away his mother grasped his arm and pulled him into the waiting area.

"Albus will be fine," she said before Harry could ask again. "It was just a scare this time." Under her breath, she added, "Idiot."

"He's … going to be okay?" Minerva nodded, and Harry let out a sigh of relief and sat down heavily. "What happened?"

Minerva sat down beside him. "It's nothing for you to worry about, Harry. He just had a cough that got a little out of control."

"What do you mean, out of control?"

She sighed. "Albus' immune system isn't particularly active, and he forgot to take his potions when he was supposed to. He will be fine," she repeated gently.

"What were the awful things you mentioned?"

Minerva wrinkled her nose. "Cigarettes."

"Oh." Harry couldn't imagine his father smoking. He certainly couldn't imagine his mother letting him. Obviously there was a lot more he had to learn about his parents. "Can we go in and see him?"

"He's sleeping at the moment, but yes, if you want to you can go in. Just don't disturb him."

"I won't," Harry promised.

Madam Pomfrey let him and Minerva inside the Hospital Wing and closed the door behind them quietly. Harry swallowed as he saw Albus lying in bed, still and pale. Somehow, he didn't look like the powerful wizard any more; he looked a lot smaller, weaker, than usual, and it scared Harry seeing him like that.

Minerva slid into a seat next to the bed and Harry sat down as well. Albus twitched a little in his sleep, but did not wake.

Eventually Harry dozed off as well. When he woke, he became aware of someone stroking his hair and opened his eyes to see his father watching him.

"Tired?" Albus enquired, a small smile on his face despite the fact that he still looked exhausted.

Harry didn't answer; instead he hugged him tightly and buried his face in his robes. Albus chuckled and hugged him back. "It's all right, Harry, I'm fine."

"Neville thought you were dead." It came out muffled.

"Well as you can see, he was wrong."

Harry drew back a little and fixed Albus with a stern look reminiscent of Minerva. "Don't scare me like that again."

"It wasn't intentional, believe me."

Minerva herself fixed Albus with a glare. "No, but preventable if you would just listen to Poppy for once."

"I _do_ listen to Poppy; I was merely distracted, as you know very well."

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, correctly guessing that he was the reason for the distraction.

"It's not your fault, Harry." Albus sighed. "It's just circumstances."

Silence fell. Harry closed his eyes and lay still, enjoying being with his father for a while. Minerva finally stood.

"I should go, I have morning classes to teach." She kissed Albus and squeezed his hand. "Rest, you. I'll come back later." She kissed Harry as well and turned towards the door. "Oh, and Harry," she added, "Fred and George Weasley arrived earlier for a visit. I believe they want to talk to you about something."

Harry nodded, only half-listening. "Okay. Thanks."

"You should really be going too, Harry," Albus said gently as the door closed behind Minerva. "You have classes to be in."

"I know," Harry mumbled, but didn't move. Albus sighed.

"All right, fine. You can stay. For now. You haven't had any breakfast yet, have you?"

Harry shook his head. "Not hungry."

"Iris?" Albus said. A _pop_ later, the house-elf was standing in the middle of the Hospital Wing.

"Yes, Master Albus?"

"Could you bring Harry something to eat, please?" Harry started to object, but Albus spoke over him. "Something small that slips down easily, he's not very hungry."

Iris smiled at Harry. "I is bringing Master Temmy breakfast, sir," she said, and disappeared.

Albus looked down at his son. "Master Temmy?"

"She said that's what – what you used to call me," Harry said. "Minus the 'Master' bit. Did you?"

"Yes, I did." Albus smiled. "It was what people called my father – his name was Artemis too."

A thought struck Harry. "You said earlier, something about my bloodline meaning I was powerful, or something," he said, looking back up at his father. "What did you mean?"

Albus looked as though he was considering his answer. "Magical power," he said finally, "is normally hereditary. You get exceptions, of course, like Muggleborns and squibs, but for the most part power runs in families. Actually, a lot of Muggleborns discover that they did have a wizard in their family once, so there are less exceptions than you might think."

Harry nodded, letting him continue.

"Some wizarding families have distinctive power patterns to them. I had a friend whose family turned out a squib every fifth generation exactly. My family – our family – also had a pattern which the Ministry has always been concerned about, because it's quite an unusual one."

"What's that?"

"Firstly, there are far more males born into the family than females. We're a bit like the Weasleys in that respect – in fact, I think Arthur is something like my third cousin a few times removed … but I digress.

The concern was that, every child whose _mother_ was a Dumbledore by blood, appeared to be exceptionally powerful. I was one, my brother as well. And they've been getting stronger and stronger over time.

Because there are so few women born into the family it's not as huge an issue as it could be, but people in the family were and are still becoming more and more powerful. Then a while back, a man – my great-great-great uncle or something like that – had a male partner and he had a child, who was also one of the powerful children, so it's been recorded as a matter of who gives birth, rather than the females-only pattern people thought before. Are you following this?"

Harry nodded in confirmation. "So, because you had me, I'm one as well?"

Albus nodded too. "And I imagine that you are actually more powerful than I am." Harry raised his eyebrows in disbelief, but Albus nodded. "As I said, it's been growing."

"Wow." Harry sighed. "No wonder the Ministry were glad of a reason to have me killed."

"I never said they were glad," Albus said gently. "But it's been a concern of theirs for a while, which merely gave more power to Jasper's story."

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey entered. "I see you're still here, Mr. Po -" she began, but changed her mind. "Harry." There was an awkward pause. "I think it's time you left, Professor Dumbledore needs his rest."

"Fine, I'll go," Harry muttered.

Albus pulled him into another hug before letting him stand up. "We can talk more later," Albus promised. Harry nodded, smiled, and left the room.

* * *

Harry didn't go to class; instead, he went to his dormitory to think over what he had learned. Lying on his back, staring up at the four-poster, he wondered exactly what being one of the 'powerful children' meant. Was that perhaps the key to defeating Voldemort in the prophecy?

His train of thought was soon interrupted.

"Harry?"

He groaned and sat up. "What?"

"We've got a favour to ask you, dear investor," Fred Weasley announced, sitting on the end of his bed and pulling out a bag. Inside were two harmless-looking chocolate muffins. Harry eyed them suspiciously before turning to the twins.

"What are they?"

George grinned. "Our new improved Gniega Cakes. Try one, Harry."

"No, thanks."

"Aw, come on Harry, don't be a spoilsport."

"Funnily enough, I don't much fancy turning into a baby, even if it is only for a couple of seconds … wait. What do you mean by 'new improved'?"

"Well," Fred started, "the current version is only a temporary state, like the Canary Creams. _These_ need an antidote to be reversed."

"Good blackmail weapon. We make a point of not selling to Slytherins."

Harry peered at the cakes. "You have an antidote?"

George showed him a small vial of purple liquid. "Yep. We just need a tester, that's all."

"Sorry guys, but you've come to the wrong place. Ask Ron or Hermione."

"No way; Hermione would have our heads if it went wrong."

"Is that possible? That something's wrong with it? Because in that case, I'm _definitely_ not trying one."

"Pretty please?"

"Pretty no."

"Oh, Harry, go on. No-one else will."

"I wonder why," he replied sarcastically. "Can't you take it yourselves?"

Fred and George looked at each other. "Well … we'd rather that, in the unlikely event of an emergency, we were both at hand, so we can put things right."

"Harry, _please!_"

Harry groaned. "You're not going to give up till I've agreed, are you?"

"Nope."

"Oh for goodness' sake, all right, I'll eat the bloody thing. But if ANYTHING goes wrong, I will sue you both, do you understand?"

"Yessir," they said happily, saluting. Harry cautiously pulled out one of the cakes. It looked perfectly harmless, but them, so did all Fred and George's products. Wondering what he'd got himself into, he made to take a bite.

"Wait!" Fred said quickly. Harry looked up, and George murmured a quick spell. "There. Sorry; we thought it would be a good idea if we enchanted your clothes to shrink with you."

"Right. Is there anything else?"

"No; go ahead. George, are you ready with that clipboard?"

"All set."

Harry took a deep breath and bit into the cake. It tasted perfectly ordinary. Nothing happened as he finished the whole thing, then …

Fred and George stared. Harry began to shrink; his face became younger, and his hair was growing longer, and – turning red?

Harry's glasses slipped off his nose, which had changed shape and was still shrinking with him. The twins gaped as the final changed took place, and stopped. Harry Potter, now two years old, was sitting cross-legged on his bed.

But he didn't look like Harry Potter at all.

**TBC …**


End file.
